


Tumblr prompts

by Small_bump



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M, alternative universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-02 03:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_bump/pseuds/Small_bump
Summary: Various tumblr prompts I have answered.





	1. Alien evasion (a)

 

 

_It’s the end of the world as we know it._

 

He can hear it- he’s heart slamming against his chest, his breath stuttered as he exhales. He uses the back of his palm to wipe the spit from the outer corner of his mouth. Disgustingly, a habit from childhood, he inspects it, and just as he suspects, there’s blood mingled in his saliva, now starting to dry. 

He just wants to rest, lay his head down for just a second, right here on the stone floor (he’s just so tired.) but there’s no rest for the wicked, as he feels the eyes begin to droop, the door to the kitchen- an old rusty metal, screaks as its yanked open.  

“Another fight? Honestly, are you trying to get yourself killed?” There’s a bite to his voice- Aaron’s, but it’s not malice, it’s not intended to hurt- but he’s mad, Robert can tell (he’s sorry.)

“Robert,” Aaron snaps, forcing Robert to open his eyes. His breath is still shallow, a loud noise that kidnaps the room kidnaps his voice. Perhaps it’s for the best that Robert can’t speak, can’t let the truth tumble from his lips because he’s tired, just wants to give up, want’s this god damn war to be over already but it feels never-ending.

“I’m not Liv,” he finally says in a quiet voice, “I’m not gonna leave ya.” He stares Aaron in the eyes then, sees them wild and expects a punch, because they don’t talk about Liv- not even at night when they’re bundled under the covers, praying their camp isn’t exposed by skitters.

Robert had never met her, just gone eleven when she’d been taken. He hadn’t meet Aaron till well after the world had gone to shit, till well after science fiction stories-well stopped being fiction. And even now, going on two years since the evasion, they’re still at a loss as to what they- the skitters wanted with the kids they’d taken.

“You sure? Because you seem to be doing a pretty damn good job in making sure if the skitters don’t kill ya, someone in this camp will.”

“It’s not right,” Robert says through gritted teeth, “moving everyone- most of them won’t make it.”

Aaron moves forward then, until he’s right in front of him, his legs and torso right in Robert’s line of vision. He kneels, taking Robert’s hands into his own. “They will because they have you.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not a doctor.” He’ll always hate the way his voice wobbles because he wishes he was stronger, for Aaron, for Vic. He wishes he wasn’t so damn scared and tried (but he is.)

“Maybe not, but you’re all they got, and they believe in you- and so do I.” 

Robert J Sugden, self-proclaimed medic, he wonders what his father would think of him if he was here. What he’d think of how his son handled the end of the fucking world, or at least the end of the world as they knew it.

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” he mutters, “it’s been one of those days, I’ll apologise to Cain first thing.”

Aaron nods, groaning as he stands up, stretching out his back. “Come on, Vic’s managed to save ya a ration in the mess hall, better hurry up Adam had his eye on it when I left.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “typical, you’d think the lad had two stomachs or something- maybe he’s a skitter in disguise.”

“Nah he’s to shit of a liar for that.”

He lets Aaron lead the way, still, a little light-headed from the punch Cain had thrown earlier; just between his jaw. It’s still sore, and when Robert put’s his fingers to the skin, his eye twitches from the pain. 

It’s just another day isn’t it? Just another day since the world’s gone to shit. It’ll be better in the morning, it has to be their moving, and when he thinks about it the same sense of forbidding settles in his stomach.

He’ll make it work, he’ll get them through it. (He’s still so fucking tired though.) 


	2. Boarding school (a)

_I'm leaving tonight, I'll be gone in the moring._

 

**Robert;**

 

_This is it Robert, your final shot. Don’t screw this up._

Robert sighs, fidgeting with the ends of his blazer, trying to make himself comfortable. It’s hot for this time of year, and a bead of sweat is forming in the creases of his forehead when he moves. It hits him, as the car drives through the gate, turning round the bend to park parallel to the fountain, how strange it  _feels._ To be back here, to a place that once felt like home.

It almost feels like it used to back when him and Andy had been kids, when they were still  _friends._ They’d huddled up close to each other and gawked up at the impressive building before them. Robert had felt intimidated; it was all so new, so foreign. Robert had been it his own though, he’d craved his name into every wall, every crevice until there wasn’t a sole in that building who didn’t know  _his name._

He’d tamed the beast, climbed its tail and shoved a sword right through its head. Now it felt as though, all those years had been a dream, surrounded by fog, and when he finally emerged the other side, when he’d woken up. He was stood there, afraid of the monster once more. It hadn’t been a dream, it was  _real—_ not that, it was worth much now.

“We’ve arrived Mr Sugden,” Monty announces, lifting up the gear.

 _Monty_ —was the only person, in his father’s service that Robert remotely liked.  _Well,_ he more than remotely liked Monty, in fact, Robert liked him  _a lot._ The elder gentleman has been his father’s driver for over twenty years, and the only member of staff who showed more of an inclination to Robert, than Andy.

Robert sighs, chewing at the bottom of his lip. He’d decided to skip out on dinner, arriving just as the dining hall would be closing. He wasn’t hungry  _anyway._ He leans against the seat and doesn’t make a motion to move, even when Monty opens the driver’s side door. Robert watches him walk around the back through the window, hears the pop of the boot door open.

Taking in a breath full of air, Robert grabs the door hand in one swift movement, pulling at the handle, the cold air rushing in as he swings his legs out. 

“Shall I take your bags in as usual?” Monty asks, once Robert’s standing upright by the car door. He swallows roughly, looking up to meet the elder’s eyes. He nods, can’t find the words to say ‘yes’, because there’s a lump forming at the base of his throat.  

He feels like a wild animal, caged,  _feral,_ he just wants to run. Run as far away as possible and not look back. He thinks about it, eyes shifting towards the front gate, then towards Monty’s back as he climbs the stairs towards the entrance of the building. He could do it; it would be so  _easy_ —

“Sugden,” someone calls him sharply, not any  _voice._ The voice, the one that had his hands balling into fists, his spine rigged in anger. He’d love to punch the face of that voice,  _he wishes,_ he could. “Inside, we need to have a word.”

“Yes sir,” he says through gritted teeth. Makes his throat work because he knows he can’t afford to screw this up, if he was a cat, he’d be on his last life by now. He reaches inside the bar, pulling out his duffle bag. He’d kept it at his feet; worried his laptop would get scuffled in the boot among his luggage.

He can feel, his  _headmaster’s_ eyes boring holes into the back of his head. His dawdling, something he knows he  _hates._          

 

-

 

The first time Robert had been sent to the headmaster’s office, he’d been terrified. A kid two years above him kept stealing bits from the packages his mum would send. He’d spent  _weeks_ tearing his hair trying to figure out who it was until he’d caught the bugger rummaging through his things. He’d decked him straight in the nose, hadn’t even thought about it.  _Impulse_ was always his first port of call.

The office had felt so  _huge,_ and terrifying. Sat in the chair, opposite, White’s grand desk, looming and massive. He's been in here enough times now, to know there’s nothing to fear, expect a stern talking to, what else could he do? Robert would like to see him try.

Robert makes himself comfortable, shimmies down the chair, so his legs are spread apart. His fingers fig into the thick material of his trousers, he wants to play it cool. Schools his face, into nothing an impenetrable emotionless wall.

“First, let me start by saying welcome back Robert,” Lawrence snorts, walking through the office door, softly shutting it closed behind him. Robert wants to laugh, could that have sounded any less sincere?

Lawrence and him, had always had a somewhat  _rocky_ relationship. Especially, when he’d dumped the man’s daughter weeks before formal—what could he say? He got a better offer.  _Chrissie,_ who had attended the sister school, just across the river, had, of course, ran straight into her father's arms, a crying mess, and well, Lawrence had downright  _hated_ him ever since.

He should call her, he thinks. Her numbers still on his phone, no doubt she’d come running back if her  _3 Whatsapp_ messages last week when the news had broken Robert, would be returning was anything to go by.

“Thanks,” he scoffs under his breath.

Lawrence sighs, rounding the table, and sitting down at the desk. He pulls his chair in slightly, “you’ve only got basically a year and a half left at Saint Jude’s, let’s try and get through it without any trouble eh?”

Robert sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek, biting back his remark. He folds his arms across his chest tightly, as if to protect himself, and nods.       

Lawrence passes one last glance at Robert before looking down at the file on his desk, no doubt Robert’s. “According to your transcript, you did remarkably well on your GCSE’s, I’m impressed, you must have had a patient tutor.” 

Robert rolls his eyes; he didn’t exactly have much of a choice. It was either study  _hard,_ or get sent to military school, there was no choice to be made. So he’d sat there, in his father’s library, his tutor having returned it into the smallest classroom for  _two,_ and worked.

His tutor wasn’t even that bad, a middle-aged vicar,  _Ashley_ was his name, who worked on the side as a private tutor to earn some extra money for his family. Of course, his father would have hired a bloody vicar, he had the uncanny ability to suck the fun out of any room he entered. Ashley wasn’t bad, just  _boring._ He'd spent most of the time they weren’t studying, talking about his kids like Robert had any interest in knowing Dotty; his youngest daughter still hadn’t slept through the night.

 _Still,_ it was better than military school.

“I don’t see any reason why you should have a problem jumping into year 12 at this point, it  _could_ be a fresh start for you.”

Fresh start? Same teachers, same people, there was hardly anything fresh about it. It was like putting a fresh coat of paint on an old house and calling it  _brand new._ “Can we just get on with it sir—I don’t mean to be brash, but it’s been a long day.”

“I’ll let you go after  _this,_ your father has made a hefty contribution, in order to convince the board to let you back in after  _the incident._ But you’re under my jurisdiction now Robert, and it’s a one-strike policy with me. Put a toe out of line, and that’s it and no building of a new sports wing will get you back into Saint Jude’s am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Off you go then,” Lawrence, declares, waving off with hand.

Robert lifts himself up from the chair, fingernails raw, from having clawed at the wooden surface to keep his anger in check. He almost says  _thank you,_ but Robert’s never been that sort of student, and that wasn’t going to change now.

He lets himself out of the office, letting out the breath of air he’d been holding. Nerves slowly ebbing away, as he stands there, back leaning as the wall of the hallway. It’s quite, the clock on the wall tells Robert it’s past seven,  _most_ would have hit their respective common rooms by now, or perhaps on the law playing footie. He's not sure what to do, so he stuffs his firsts in the pockets of the trousers, and lets the constant  _ticking,_ of the grand clock wash out his thoughts. 

 

-

 

“ _Mate_.”

Robert smiles; it’s been a  _while_ since Robert’s heard that voice. He’d pretty isolated over the last year, his father hadn’t even let him go to the cost for the summer. Which Robert thought was pretty excessive, since he hadn’t been able to see his mates all school term. They’d been  _screaming,_ but his father had one, he always  _does._

He’d ended up spending most of the summer with Victoria, who’d only left like going to the cost for three weeks. It wasn’t that he minded spending time with his sister, but  _Andy_ had gone, and he couldn’t but feel jealous. That his brother, was getting to do all the things, he wasn’t allowed to.

Nate, had kept him up to speed on most things, and it wasn’t all bad; there was a fling, with a redheaded shopper keeper, that to Robert’s pleasure drove his father round the bend. They’d been caught one night sneaking into the house, past curfew, drunk on cheap cider, giggling like maniacs,  _Alice,_ that was her name. Had accidentally bumped into the table on the landing, causing one of Diane’s precious lamps to crash to the floor, Robert hadn’t heard the end of that one.

“Alright, Wylde?”     

Nate, or  _Nathan,_ and Robert had been friends since they were kids. They’re fathers having been business partners, back in the day. They’d started Saint Jude’s at the same time, and ended up sharing a dorm, and he’s been his best mate ever since.

“Why didn’t you come for first dinner?” Nate asks, pulling Robert into a hug. He pats Robert’s back hard, giving him a squeeze.

Robert shrugs, pulling away “you know me, I don’t like a fuss.”

Nate laughs, shaking his head “no fuss?” he challenges, “Mate, what have you done with Robert Sugden?”

Robert grins, looking around. It had taken a good while for Robert to work up the courage to make his way, to the common room. Saint Jude had four  _houses_ of sorts, some call them clubs, you’re either put in the same house as your parents, or it’s at random.  _Augustus,_ named after the Greek philosopher, wasn’t his  _father’s_ house, or even his  _grandfather’s_ house that had been gifted to Andy,  _ever,_ the favourite.  

But Robert had made Augustus his home, almost in spite of  _them._ Nothing had changed really; after all, it’s only been a year. It felt like everything was different, but nothing  _really_ had. It was all a matter of perspective.

“Let’s go down to the yard, we’ve still got that machine right? I’m  _dying_ for a drink and we can catch up on the steps,” he suggests, placing his duffle bag down on one of the armchairs. The commons quieter than he usually,  _well_ his usual. No ones paying Robert any mind, not that he minds, but it is a  _tad_ weird.

Nate expression changes, into a sort of panic-stricken expression and for a second and Robert wonders  _what his missing._ The steps in the yard had always been Augustus territory, he can’t understand why Nate wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or  _panicked_ at the idea of it.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Nate says,  _too_ quickly. “Everyone will be down by the steps, let’s head up to the dorms yeah? I haven’t got a chance to talk face to face with my best mate in  _ages,_ I want a bit of me time.”     

Robert coincides, normally he’d push but whatever’s Nate’s hiding, he’ll get it out of him eventually. So they head up the staircase just off the commons, onto a hall with doors stacked on either side, long enough that the window on the other side’s small from here.

“I think Barton’s left the door open, but we’ll just open and see.”

Robert stops in his tracks, Barton’s dorm was three doors down from—“what are you on about Nate,  _we_ share a dorm? Why would we go into Barton’s?”

“White didn’t tell?”

Tell him what? “ _Nate,_ what’s going on?”

Nate swallows, looking at Robert with eyes wide, “I’ve got a new roommate, he transferred in last year, Barton’s dorm is the only one with a free bed since his roommate was in year 13 and graduated.”

“They gave away my bed?” he barks. “Nate we’ve had that room since we were  _nine._ ”

“I know,” he whispers, “I tried to tell them, but I don’t think they thought you were coming back, to be honest. And your bed was the only one free in the house and his  _uncle_ insisted he be in Augustus.”

Robert clenched his jaw, hands tightening around the straps of his duffle bag. He fucking  _hated_ Barton; the whole damn school knew that Ross’s older brother was fine, his younger was fine too, it was just  _him,_ who was a complete twat.

“Fine,” he grits out, moving past Nate and towards the dorm. He’ll have to have a  _word,_ with whomever the fuck was sleeping in  _his_ bed. For tonight though, sharing with Barton was just going to have to do.

When he arrives at the door, he turns the handle open to reveal one side that was a complete  _tip,_ and the that was empty, sans Robert’s things that Monty had brought up earlier on that the evening. 

Robert wasn’t a neat freak or anything, but he was  _clean._ Barton couldn’t have been here, longer than the  _weekend,_ who the hell had he managed to get his side into that state already? Robert couldn’t even see the floor or Ross’s side.

“You can put your stuff up, and it’ll be the same,” Nate says from behind. He's got his head, slotted above Robert’s shoulder, having a peek into the room.

 _It won't be._ He wants to say, wants to stomp his feet like a petulant child and refuse. Storm into White’s office and give him a piece of his  _mind._ He doesn’t though, just stares at the room like his in a trance of sorts.

“Course it will,” he chooses instead, he wills his eyes not to water, feels the sting, but holds back, because he's not a fucking  _pussy._ He isn’t going to act like one.

 

-

 

He wants to punch Barton in the face, the moment he walks into the room. Waltz’s in, a big fat grin taking over his face, when he spots Robert on the bed, Nate on the windowsill. It was enough, to make Robert’s hands curl into fists; he just wanted to  _punch. And punch._

“The prodigal son  _returns._ ”

He needed to change rooms; there wasn’t a chance he was going to make it through sharing a room with Barton.  _God_ something had to give at some point.

Ross Barton, the second son of James Barton, had gotten on Robert’s nerves since the day he’d transferred in, in year 6. He’d sat at  _their_ table, and forced his way into  _their_ clique, and it ticked Robert off.

Ross was a worm, a squirmy little  _worm;_ there was no other way to describe it.

Robert shuffles till his back is pressed against the wall, legs crossed. He's got his laptop open,  _Aaron Dingle’s_ profile open in the web browser.

He’d never heard of him, he was a  _nobody,_ or at least he was a nobody, until Robert had left—well been expelled and left  _his throne_ for the taking. He’d assumed Nate, would just take his place, it was the most logical course of action. At least to  _Robert._

Obviously not, since Nate had begrudgingly explained the score to him, which involved this  _Aaron_ lad, not just taking his bed, but pretty much taking his  _life._ His school anyway, the only bit of his life actually worth having. 

Ross tut’s, plonking down on the bed with a thud “excited that we’re gonna be roomies Sugden?”

“Oh yeah, I’m jumping for joy.”

“Aw don’t be like  _that._ I’ve been looking forward to this since they told me.”

Robert looks up at Nate, who shrugs. Furious, he slams his laptop shut, grabbing the handle of his duffle bag and pulling it towards him. He unbuckles the chain, stuffing his hand in, pulling out a jumper he’d hastily thrown in earlier.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announces. It’s dark out, but it’s not  _curfew yet,_ he's got an hour, and Robert needs to breathe.

“Do you want me to come?” Nathan asks.

It's Robert turn to take in his best friend. He looks so unsure; Robert knows it’s been a year, but  _his changed._ Maybe it’s because of this Dingle lad, or maybe it was something else, but he wasn’t the confident boy he’d been in year 10, he needed to  _pull_ that out of him.

He stands, shaking his head “no it’s alright I’m fine on my own.”

He doesn’t pay Ross any mind, jumper in hand, he walks out of the dorm. He pulls the grey material over his head, sighing internally. He didn’t expect everything to be the same, he wasn’t  _stupid,_ but this-this wasn’t some minor change, Robert could roll with that, this was  _literally_ everything.     

Robert wasn’t going to stand for it, he  _couldn’t._ He needed to suss the situation out, fix it somehow. He wasn’t sure  _how_ he was going to, just that he needed to. There wasn’t another option.

 

 

**Aaron;**

 

 _Fuck,_ his tired. Summer had been all about lazing around in bed until noon; he’d only managed to get  _six_ hours of sleep, Aaron needs more  _than_ that. He’d arrived back at school on the weekend, fucked around with Adam and Ross, went into town, managed to bag a couple of beers and got drunk at the park. Of course, his mates had invited the girls from Saint Agatha, that’s all they ever thought about, getting laid.

“Remind me again why I decided to take economics at A?” Adam groans, shuffling down beside him.

They're in the dining hall, the morning at been—well  _awful._ It had only been introductions,  _still,_ having to sit back at those desks, pretending to be interested, made Aaron  _long_ for summer again. And the semesters only just started.

“Because you want to own you’re own business one day? You need to be able to balance the books and all that.”

“I’ll hire an accountant, they gave us the packet this morning, and it’s about the length of a string and massive.”

Aaron wasn’t interested in classes; the only reason he’d agreed to attend Saint Jude’s was so he could  _play._ And this was his year. Mateo having graduated last year, he was a shoe-in for captain. He just needed to speak to  _King,_ on Friday during try-outs. It made Aaron nervous, quite a few of they’re best players had been in year 13,  _fresh blood_ was what they needed, but talent was hard to come by.

Aaron looked further down their table, to see Ross hunched over his tray, practically wearing his lunch. “What’s with him?” he asks, head signalling in Ross’s direction.

“I’ll tell you what’s up,” Ross grumbles, head lifting up enough to meet Aaron’s eyes “Sugden woke me up at  _five thirty_ to go for a fucking run. I don’t know how Wylde put up with him for so long.”

 _Robert Sugden,_ Aaron had heard of him. It was kind of impossible not to when he’d transferred in last year, the lad was all anyone could talk about. The rumour had been that he’d got himself expelled after setting Kingston,  _his brothers_ house on fire. They’d apparently had to refurbish the wing over the summer, paid for by their father of course.

Aaron had never had a problem with Andy, he’s a year 13 now and them lot tended to stick around together, which suited Aaron just fine.

Robert, according to everyone else, had been  _Mr popular,_ but since the incident had gone rouge—Adam had joked once that Aaron had taken Robert’s place.  _“If Sugden could see us now, he’d be fuming, always thought Ross and I weren’t good enough for him.”_

“So he is back then?” Aaron asks. He grabs his fork and takes a mouthful of his pie.

Ross nods, pinching a yoghurt from his younger brothers tray, much to Finn’s refusal “yep, arrived last night. Bit  _weird_ would have thought he’d get in on the weekend with Andy, always used to.” He shrugs, opening the plastic lid, and shoving the spoon into yoghurt “he was fuming though, you’ve taken his bed.”             

 Adam scoffs, “the guys an arse, I’m hardly going to feel bad for him because he's lost his  _bed,_ big deal.”

“He's just going to have to get used to how things are now,” Aaron grunts, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t going to play power struggle with some  _pyromaniac_. Aaron wasn’t finally fucking comfortable, he didn’t have time for  _games,_ and he certainly didn’t have time for the likes of  _Robert Sugden._

Adam laughs, clasping Aaron’s shoulder “damn right. About time someone shoved Sugden off his throne.”

 

-

 

He hates Shakespeare, has no idea why he needs English to get him into sports education. He can feel Jackson’s elbow against his arm, and he  _fucking hates_ this. They’ve been broken up for months, the entire summer, Aaron having ended a few weeks before the end of the last term. When they’d meet, there had been a spark, but the flame had slowly gone out, the spark had gone out and it was—well it was  _boring._

Jackson hadn’t taken it well, and if Aaron’s being honest, a part of him thinks the older lad thinks his still in with a chance if he waits, but Aaron’s moved on.  _So_ moved on, and sitting beside him in class, is doing nothing but pissing him off.

In his trouser pocket, his phone buzzes. Looking up at Mrs Sherman as she recited scene 2, from  _Macbeth._ He pulled his phone out, leaving it lying on his thigh hidden by the table, tapping in his password.

 

 

> We’re going into town after class; meet us at the entrance after last bell.
> 
> ( _From Adam,_ Received 13:45pm)

Aaron grins down at the screen. Adam was going to ask Vic out, why he needed to have them all there was beyond him, but when it came to Vic, he went a little  _love struck._ Aaron didn’t even think she was all that interested, everyone knew she was having a  _secret_ fling with a lad from Bath. But Adam seemed content to follow her around like a lost puppy, and that suited Aaron just fine. 

“You could make a bit of an effort,” Jackson whispers, eyeing Aaron’s mobile.

“ _Jackson,_ we’ve been through this,” Aaron says, sounding a little put out.  _How_ many times is he going to have to let him down before, he gets the hint? Aaron’s flattered he is, but if he wanted to get back together with Jackson, he would have.

Jackson shakes his head; eyes’ looking up to make sure the teacher is still oblivious before falling back to Aaron. “I  _know,_ but I still care about ya.”

Aaron’s face softens, he can be harsh, people, have  _told_ him that. He tends to get wrapped up in his own head and doesn’t  _think_ about others. He does care about Jackson, don’t get him wrong, just because he doesn’t want to be with him anymore, doesn’t mean all the feelings he had for the lad are suddenly gone.

“Jack,” Aaron says softly, placing a hand on his leg, giving him a squeeze. He can feel the soft material of his trousers underneath his fingertips. “You don’t have to worry about me, I can take care of myself.”

 It’s just after—” Jackson cuts himself off, giving Aaron a look that says, everything he can’t bear himself to say out allowed.

“That’s all over now,” Aaron says, perhaps too quickly.

Jackson doesn’t look as though he believes him, but Aaron isn’t willing to take about  _this_ any further, so the lad's eyes fall to the textbook their meant to be reading along with the teacher, the conversation effectively ending.

It’s too painful to think about, Aaron just wants to burry. Bury it all, and pretend it never happened, the scares are a constant reminder, he doesn’t need Jackson, doesn’t need his ex-boyfriend to keep reminding him.

 

-

 

Aaron’s actually impressed his managed to go the  _entire_ day without seeing  _Robert Sugden_ since his return its all anyone could fucking talk about.

It’s boring, it’s one lad, honestly how  _interesting_ could he possibly be.

He was never one for staying in uniform more than he needed to, so before meeting Adam at the gates, he’d decided to head to his dorm and change. They could wait. Aaron was quick anyway and Ross always fucked around after class, taking absolutely forever, so he wasn’t missing anything.

When he opened the door, to his dorm, low and behold Robert Sugden was sitting there, on  _his_ bed, Nathan on his own. Aaron’s jaw clenches, as he looks at the blonde haired lad, trying to school his emotions. His always been shit at it, wore his heart on his sleeve, his mum used to always say she could tell what he was thinking by just looking at him in the face.

 _His fit._ Fuck it; he could admit it, a warm feeling, coiling in the base of his stomach. His tall, and lean, fair skinned without freckles. He's got this  _schoolboy_ haircut, the fringe just barely covering his eyes.  _Shit._

Okay, so of course he’d known Robert was fit. He’d heard the girls whisper over the summer, their disappointment that he wouldn’t be coming to the coast evident. But Aaron’s never seen a picture, never felt the need to. He knows Nathan’s got a couple hanging on the wall, but Aaron just  _wasn’t interested._ And if he wasn’t interested, he gave no fucks to it.

"Aaron- _uh_ this is Robert," Nathan introduces. 

'Yeah," Aaron sighs dryly, "I've heard." 

Robert scoffs, heaving himself up from the bed, "my reputation proceeds me I  _see_. All bad I hope." He laughing, giving Aaron a cheeky wink. 

Aaron schools his face into an unimpressed expression, walking past the blonde lad, to grab the book he'd left on his nightstand earlier in the afternoon. 

"We were just going to grab a snack if you're interested." 

Aaron turns towards them,  _he's_ got to be  _kidding_ right? "Thanks, but me, eating with the social pariah of the school, ain't going to happen."

"Friendly as a porcupine you are."

They leave then, shutting the door softly behind them. Aaron hardly feels bad, from the way Adam said he treated him before he'd been expelled Sugden deserved everything he'd gotten as far as he was concerned. 

If that was the case why didn't it  _feel_ right? After all, Aaron knew what it was like for rumours to run away- for them to snowball into an ugly thing that can't be controlled. He didn't even know the  _full_ story-


End file.
